“I do not need a diamond to know your heart, Garrett,” I said.
“I want you to have it,” he said. “I want them to see it on your finger.”
“I am marrying you, not your family,” I said, though a small knot of doubt tightened in my chest.
“They will have to accept it,” he said, his voice firming. “I have made my choice.”
The glider gave a tiny squeak as he shifted his weight, his shoulder pressing against mine in the cool evening air.
“We will have the dinner at the mansion next month,” he said. “Just the children and us. A quiet family dinner to set things right.”
“Are you sure they want to come?” I asked.
“They will come because I asked them to,” he said.
On Monday afternoon, the sky was the color of a wet slate shingle. I drove my Buick down to the municipal building, the tires kicking up small puddles of rainwater in the alley behind the courthouse.
Brenda, the deputy clerk, was behind the counter, her wire-rimmed glasses sliding down her nose as she sorted through a stack of blue tax assessment cards.
